


Marry Me

by SilverBlaze85



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Puppies, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBlaze85/pseuds/SilverBlaze85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam have some down-time during the holidays. Dean has a question and a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marry Me

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt is for [info]audreyava, who asked for: Sam/Dean, Supernatural FPS, marry me. Hope this is kinda what you're looking for. ^_^ Part of my Winter Prompt 2011fills.

~*^*~~

Dean’s not an idiot. Contrary to whatever opinions Sam teases him with, he does know a few things, and his younger brother tends to forget just how observant he is. Yeah, Sam likes rather girly music, but Dean can tell you what vocalists and what song titles and what year are Sam’s favorites, knows them as intimately as his own.

He knows how to operate the disk-burner… okay, well, that took a little research, but the soft strains drifting from the speakers shows that he figured it out just fine, thank you very much. Even if it took covert sneaking to get the laptop away from his convalescing brother, but he thinks it may totally be worth it.

And he’s seen the lingering glances at jewelry stores they pass, hurt and pain the first few years, morphing into studied indifference, to open want this last year. He knows how much Sam wanted the normal, average life, and it kills Dean that there’s no logical way his brother can ever have that. He hopes that maybe, possibly, this won’t blow up rather spectacularly in his face. God, he hopes.

Still, he flips off the CD, since Sam won’t be up for a few hours, and flips it to an 80’s rock station, smirking as “Danger Zone” drifts out quietly. There’s tape and ribbons and scissors and ink pens strewn across the room, and amidst it all, a roll of gold wrapping paper. He checks on Sam one more time, making sure the kid is still asleep before he settles in front of the wrapping paper, tugging out the last two boxes. He’s still sort of rough at wrapping gifts, and considering how important these last two were, he wanted to make sure they were as perfect as possible.

Still, cutting a three-foot piece of paper to wrap a two inch box may have been overkill. Only a little though. Kind of like when Sam wouldn’t let him raze the entire apple orchard back in Indiana. But, with only a few curses, the two boxes are wrapped, a tiny silver bow on the top of them, gleaming innocently under the heavy boughs of the spruce they brought in a few days ago. He’s still anxious, wanting to run down the hall and just shove them into Sam’s hands, found out now just how much he hates it, but he flips off the main lights in the cabin’s living room, smiling to himself when the firelight and the soft glow from the tree provided ample light to see with.

Sam’s still just as asleep as before, even if he has wriggled closer to the middle of the bed, seeking out Dean. He smiles, wanting to pet and soothe and reassure he’s still right here, for as long as Sam wants him, but the kid is worn out. A drowning that came entirely too close, developed into pneumonia, which had, in the luck of the Winchesters, lingered for a few weeks before they realized it wasn’t just a cold. Antibiotics, rest and time was the prescription, and Dean decided enough was enough.

The cabin was one of Elkins, furnished and well-placed, situated on the ridge just so, and it soothed Dean’s nerves to know that it was the best, most impenetrable defensive location he could really ask for, Bobby’s aside. The Impala was garaged in the attached, heated garage, and the cabin wasn’t quite the shack he had first expected. Sam had fretted the first three days, until Dean had made it completely clear they were wintering here, were taking a long-overdue vacation from hunting until the spring.

The fourth day, Sam had crashed so hard, Dean had worried a bit. But the enforced naps, lazing and general relaxing was making a marked improvement, even more than the filched meds were. Still, the kid napped more now than he had since he started toddling around, and it warmed Dean to see the little sibling he often missed, the innocence and peace Sam had been allowed to keep for entirely too short of a time.

Dean backed away quietly, retreating to the kitchen and setting the percolator on the stove and letting the motions soothe his hands, trying not to fret like Bobby often accused him of. It wasn’t mother-henning if it was protecting the last important thing to him. The hunt had already taken away his mother, his childhood, his father, and his chance for anything normal. He’d be damned before he’d let it take away his Sammy.

A loud clatter in the garage caught his attention, drawing him out of his musing and making him realize the coffee was well done by now. He chuckled as he removed the percolator, decanting it off into his mug. Which he almost dropped, when Sam’s rough voice came from the doorway. “What’s so funny?”

“Your hair,” which, wasn’t fair, but yeah…. It did kind of look like an electrocuted porcupine. The poor kid had red wrinkles from the pillow, and Dean couldn’t quite smother the laugh as Sam patted his hair, trying to tame the mess. He looked so pitiful Dean couldn’t resist sneaking a kiss when he offered Sam his mug, shooing him towards the living room.

“What’s up with the no-light thing?” Sam croaked, huddling up on the couch, beaming in thanks when Dean snagged the heavy quilt off the chair and draped it over his lap. Dean flipped on the CD player, letting the singer crooning about asking the waitress to marry him drift through the air softly.

“Well, it is Christmas, and I figured we might try doing things right for a change,” Dean offered as he slipped back into the kitchen, getting the cream and sugar for his stolen coffee, and a new mug for himself. He puttered just a little bit, giving Sam a chance to settle a poker-face in place if need be, and made his way back in, setting the stuff on the table by Sam’s arm. He did a quick check, if sneakily, cupping Sam’s jaw and kissing his forehead. His fever seemed down, which was good. Even better was the fact that his lymph nodes were down as well, and Dean smiled to himself. “So, you wanna pick out which gift to open first?”

Sam eyed him warily for a moment before shrugging, sipping his coffee. “Pick one for me?” Dean grabbed the two smallest boxes, the ones that were causing him the most anxiety, and offered one to Sam, slipping around behind the couch as Sam carefully cut the tape and peeled back the paper. His slight pause at seeing the black velvet box caused Dean’s heart to start beating in overtime, so he gently kneaded Sam’s shoulders, trying to occupy his hands and keep them from snatching the gift back.

The hinge was totally silent when the box opened, exposing a silver bone-shaped tag on the black velvet, and Sam tipped his head, staring at it for a moment, before he craned his head around to glance at Dean in askance. “Remember the guy in Omaha that you kept accusing me of flirting with?”

“Yeah, and you totally were, Dean.”

Dean shook his head, slipping his hands down to Sam’s stomach, petting it idly as he murmured. “Told you, I wasn’t. But, he did have something that I wanted. And it’s out in the garage now.” Sam furrowed his brow, watching Dean warily, but Dean just straightened up and stretched, yawning in the quiet warmth. He knew Sam, and in five, four, three, two…

“Okay, fine.” Sam pushed the blankets off, glancing at Dean one more time before making his way to the door leading to the garage. He hesitated when his hand touched the knob, glancing at Dean again.

“Oh, come on. It’s not a bad thing, okay?” Sam nodded, steeling himself, and cracked open the door, and Dean smirked at the way he used the door as a shield, peering around it into the darkness. He almost slammed it shut when the sound of claws on concrete in a dead run came through, but apparently saw it before the door moved.

The girly, drawn-out ‘aww’ that Sam made as he hit his knees was totally worth years of teasing.

Dean crouched on the other side of the [wriggling puppy](http://i1181.photobucket.com/albums/x429/SilverBlaze85LJ/frecksozpup072107.gif), chuckling as the thing tried it’s damnest to climb Sam and lick his face off. “Guy is a hunter, and he found out that some dogs are real good partners out there. He had just bred his two when I talked to him, and conned him out of a puppy. He stopped by last night with this little boy.” The thing was cute in an almost-ugly way, one eye blue and the other brown, with a broken coat. Bits of white, black and brown mixed and swirled, and Dean still wondered if it was wrong to say it looked like someone had shaken out paint brushes over the thing. “It’s a bit of a mutt, but he said both the parents are great out on hunts, so I was thinking…. Maybe?”

Sam was fondling the floppy little ears, to the great bliss of the puppy, but he was quiet, watching his hands. “So, what’s this mean?”

Shit. He hated the damned thing. Dean sighed, sitting proper on the floor, knocking his knees against Sam’s until the kid looked up. “It means, we’re staying here until the spring, like I said. Get this little fellow housebroken and trained, because I’m not having accidents in my car. And then we start with some easy hunts. Get this little guy used to the hunt, get us back in our forms, and we’ll progress from there. Same plan, Sammy, just with one more.” He watched as Sam processed that for a long moment, the puppy settling into his lap now that the fun was over for a bit.

“So, we’re still hunting?” The question was quiet, and Dean nodded.

“Unless you want out all the way.” He had to put that on the table, had to give Sam that out. He knew he did the right thing when Sam smiled and shook his head no, scratching through fur until the puppy grunted, back leg kicking awkwardly.

“So, what’s his name?” Dean laughed, shrugging.

“That’s up to you. He’s yours, kiddo.” Sam had gone quiet again, watching the puppy’s eyes slowly drift shut, and Dean figured, now or never, really. He offered the other little box, watching Sam turn it over in his hands as Dean shifted, getting onto his knee proper. The pup lifted its head, watching for a moment before sighing and putting his head back on Sam’s thigh.

“There another puppy out there?” Sam asked as he cracked open the box. His gaze shot instantly to Dean’s right hand, checking that the ring in the box wasn’t the one Dean always wore, before turning confused, glancing up at Dean.

“Marry me?”


End file.
